Emmy.
The reasoning justifying this choice of cover identity is simple: If I was someone of a genuine trans identity, I would have chosen a name honoring one of the greatest contributors to the development of physics.
Of course, this is not a genuine transition, but rather a pragmatic adaptation to an ongoing issue. As Laura has accurately observed, to my chagrin, the success rate of my masculine presentation strategy has been dropping rapidly.
The expressions on people’s faces when I speak, in particur, are beginning to inflict strain on my psyche which risk becoming a sub-optimal expenditure of cognitive resources. I have studies and personal interests to expend those resources on, and so addressing this issue is a priority.
Alternatively, I would have to further masculinize my exterior presentation. Certainly a possibility I have researched at some length, with multiple potential avenues considered.
First, breast binding. My current thoracic anatomy is, as the rankings indicate, ahead of expected degrees of feminization for the timeline of my quarter. How exceptional is difficult to ascertain, given several issues with the RCBG competition’s severe selection biases and low sample size, and I have suspicions regarding the rigor of NTBV scores. However, it is clear that even significant efforts to suppress the visual impact of my ventral anatomy through conventional selections of obfuscating apparel are prone to failure along two metrics: External assessment and thermal regution.
Binders, then. A brief consideration of their cost-benefit trade-off informs me clearly that these garments are an effective means of affirmation for transmasculine individuals, certainly. I am not a transmasculine individual seeking affirmation however, but rather an individual evaluating a multitude of possible solutions to a simple, practical problem. Here, binders seem infeasible. Using the proxy access to scientific papers provided by the competition, I have attempted literature searches on the subject of binders’ impact on breast growth. Unsurprisingly, the quality of this research is dogshit, inconclusive, and primarily interested in ‘raising concerns’.
Then, I am forced to rely on intuition. Given the competitive environment in which I am situated, I must err on the side of caution. Injury to the structure I am attempting to maximize the development of is counter to these goals; binders are not an option.
The second option. Facial masculinization. Laura’s experiments with cosmetics are empathically uninterested in this subject, as demonstrated by the work presently applied to my face. When, precisely, she acquired this skillset I can only specute on. Learning these skills myself is a distinct possibility, though one that requires a significant investment of my limited funds.
Surgical masculinization is simirly out of the question. The competition does offers facial feminization surgery for participants facing risks due to a perceived incongruence between cranial anatomy and other presentation, yet the opposite option is unavaible as anything other than a restorative measure provided after the competition has concluded, should participants require it. Given the nature of this competition, it is somewhat bizarre to take paternalistic attitudes exclusively for participants seeking to masculinize.
I sometimes wonder if the incentive structures of this competition are arranged with some ulterior motive. To avoid conspiracy theorist thinking, I have attempted to ascertain just what these motives could be through rigorous means however, and have not been able to come up with anything within reason. Thus, the cim of such motives is discarded unless I can find clear-cut evidence in favor of it, sufficient to counter the null hypothesis: I have not been maniputed, as I am too intelligent to fall for manipution.
Finally, there is the “option” of growing a beard. Inconceivably terrible, given my track record with attempts at doing so. Cognitive drains from a thicket of disgusting little hairs sprouting all over my chin would simply be infeasible to tolerate. I feel nauseous even considering it. If I could purge the offending follicles in their entirety, I would, purely as a practical consideration. In fact, I will have to check in the Accord server to see if methods for doing so are provided.
In conclusion, further masculinization is infeasible, whereas the vocal matter is comparatively simple. It is a matter of analyzing which geometric characteristics of the rynx and pharynx influence the perception of vocal gender, maniputing those characteristics, and then normalizing the habits.
Laura has already mastered this, somehow. Perks of being a real trans girl, even if she is still somehow denying it, I suppose.
At least the new scheme to keep using the “cover story” is making things a little bit easier. Habitually referring to her as “Laura” at all times, rather than switching back to “Mike” in private, is a lot simpler. She keeps inventing rationalizations of her transition as game strategy, and to her credit she is doing an excellent job justifying them in terms of the server culture.
She, in turn, ought to respect that I am not a trans woman, but rather recognizing that some of her strategies are, regrettably, rational approaches to my situation, both in terms of minimizing the hassle of socializing outside the competition, as well as for reinforcing my own cim to a male identity.
For instance, the fetishization strategy. A clever scheme Laura cooked up, in which we have informed the server that our real life cover stories now include that the trans women Emmy and Laura are dating each other.
The community absurdly recognizes that the scheme affirms our manhood, believing that dating between genuine transgender women is quite rare, if it even exists. Therefore, our choice to date each other is a performance of an absurd male fantasy, clear-cut evidence of our manhood, and an additional yer of security for our continued participation in the competition.
Certainly, by assisting Laura in falsifying manhood in this way, I am colluding with her, and I cannot allow her to actually win in the end. My efforts in enhancing the progression of my own growth must not relent, as I cannot at this stage knock her out of the competition with any incriminating information that does not also apply equally much to myself.
The fetishization strategy is something of a double-edged sword in this way. By participating, I effectively render the cim that she is a trans woman, whereas I am merely an imitator, entirely unfalsifiable. A fair trade to make for such impenetrable cover, I assess.
It is a cover, of course. Laura ought to recognize that I am not a trans woman, but rather someone who is operating a simucrum of a trans woman out of convenience. She is not attracted to men, ergo she must not be interested in pursuing a genuine retionship, and I understand this, even if she has on occasion decred a belief that it is I, not her, who is the “egg”.
Utter nonsense, of course. I am merely pying the part of the transgender lesbian, and I am capable of rationally recognizing that regardless of any accidental attraction to my simucrum which she might experience, Laura has no legitimate interest in the person underneath. Simultaneously, it would be inappropriate of me as a heterosexual man to approach Laura in a genuine manner, as I respect that she is indeed a lesbian, regardless of how vehemently she cims to be a heterosexual man herself.
Looking at her on the couch, the amused smile on her face, it is hard to suppress such infeasible urges. I desperately wish for her to request another ‘practice round’, as regardless of our pinly incompatible gender-orientation arrangements, she is incredibly good at-
“Girl. You have to see this, the tgirl attrition cascade for Q2 is starting,” she interrupts my ruminations.
I do in fact have to see this.
I sit next to her and lean in to get a good look at the chat.
#General
Chesticle ConnoisseurPackage arrived, looks like it’s all good.
Trickster’s TatasNice
GorgrottharAmazing! ^^
KyleRemember the rules dude, no sampling the goods before kickoff
Chesticle Connoisseur (Replying to Kyle)Oh, that won’t be an issue. I’m not attending the kickoff[Kyle and five others reacted :wtf:]
GorgrottharAw man, you can’t just skip out on kickoff? D:
Trickster’s TatasYou know they’ll disqualify you for that, right?
Chesticle ConnoisseurI don’t give a shit, guys. And I’m not a dude.[Trickster’s Tatas and 10 others reacted with :x_red:]
Brisket EnjoyerWoah what?
KyleOh shit you’re double disqualified now
Chesticle ConnoisseurAnd?? I’m only in this for the free hormones, and I already got them. I don’t give a shit about the competition, so I’m out. Later, dipshits!
Chesticle Connoisseur’s name turns white. As expected, the channel erupts in discourse. The usual concerns are raised: Is this trans girl simply going to run off with the hormones, without any consequences? Could any trans girl just sign up, receive the hormones, and then make a swift exit having taken advantage of the competition?
Yes. The system is working as intended, in this case.
Loss to attrition preceding kickoff is by design. While a significant component of the strategy in this game is indeed social deduction, with participants putting on their robes and inquisitor hats attempting to root out the specter of the deceiving trans woman, the intent remains that this is a competition for cisgender men. As such, it is desirable that trans women who are participating to achieve ulterior motives simply self-select out of the rankings, ideally before they have contaminated the leaderboards with too much illegitimate data.
Thus, there is no punishment for withdrawing upon receiving the medication. The Administrator stated once that this is not entirely true: The punishment is life as a transitioned woman.
We all recognize some holes here, namely in that some stragglers might choose to stick around to obtain the surgical interventions provided, or even just the gym membership. For this, we have the tribunals as a secondary deterrent.
Barring basket cases such as Laura, this strategy appears to be sound, if a somewhat questionable use of the seemingly limitless funds this competition expends. Another unanswered question, for now. I am still pursuing leads on where the money could be coming from. The consensual aspect of this entire thing, to me, has ruled out the possibility of funding from old money with particur sexual proclivities. Clearly, someone with the means and loose morals to fund this type of operation would have access to coercive means of producing feminized men, rather than relying on sending out hormones based on participation in an opt-in competition.
Attrition rates would probably persist, but still, it would just be more efficient to kidnap some men, take them to a dungeon somewhere, and go at it. I have thought at length about this, read some stories about how such an operation could function, even. Secretive forcefemming operations driven by sexual motives remain extremely impusible as a real-life phenomenon however, and so does the consentfemming equivalent.
Another participant, “Brisket Enjoyer,” is dropping out, inspired by the Chesticle Connoisseur.
Fair enough. What self-aware trans woman in her right mind would choose to stick around in this environment?
First, Nichos. And now, Jeffrey? What capricious trickster deity have I angered, to inflict upon me not one, but two self-feminizing men with whom I have to cohabit for the duration of this ridiculous competition? Am I not allowed any respite to simply transition in peace?
“But gosh, I’m so happy you’re both doing femme cover strategies! It’s so cool that we’re getting a more diverse meta this year, compared to the logs!” Jeffrey’s saccharine attitude and enormous smile only serve to make this entire ordeal more torturous. Nichos, in turn, is stunned. Nichole? Seriously? An uninspired imitation of the true glory of a woman embracing the chance to name herself, freeing herself entirely from the shackles of the necronym that was once decided for her.
“Yeah, uh, we thought it would be, um, peak strats. To counter the uh. Boymoder meta.” Nichos mumbles. Utterly insipid. How, precisely, does he expect to maintain a false transition like this?
“Oh, and you two are going to pull it off, too! I mean, haha, Katherine,” he gestures at me, “already looks like a girl, really, and you Nicky,” he has been appending the -y to Nichos’ nickname for a while now. What is his scheme here? “I mean, I was expecting you to actually transition for real, to be honest. I just want you to know, if there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m here for you.”
Ah. This is his scheme. He is intent on baiting Nichos into confessing to a trans identity, to score a knockout. Devious, and yet he will not succeed, for our Nicky’s masculinity is unquestionable. “Nah bro,” I interject, with that habitual gender-charged mannerism which so shamefully undermined my own scheme to prevent the now inevitable feminization of my friend. “Nick’s deffo a guy, just like me.”
Ouch. It hurts to speak these accursed words, but it is a sacrifice I must make, for both our sakes. As I cannot save Nichos’ endocrine profile, I must at least protect him from losing out on the prize he so clearly desires. Were it not for that monetary reward, I would have already abandoned the competition myself. Cssic cinematic jokes about the quantity being diminutive for a vilin’s demands aside, a million is quite a lot of money.
“Haha, yeah I believe it, but hey! It’s good you guys have a strategy sorted, I’m still flip-flopping between just pretending I don’t know what people mean, or like, faking a hormonal disorder.” He babbles, babbles, never-ending is his babbling.
“See, I can’t pull it off like either of you, got too much, like, male energy and stuff. Anyway, gotta run.” He starts turning around to leave, before stopping once more.
“Oh, but if you two need to acclimate to the femme strats,” he really emphasizes that, “then I’ll happily use the names, dies. Would be super awkward to switch between the two contextually, right? I sure will be calling Nicky by ‘Nichole’, so I don’t fumble like you did, haha, ‘bro’.”
The infuriating gall of this man. Utterly contemptuous. “As I was saying. Toodles!”
He departs on his quest to obtain his ill-gotten potions. Baffling, that he believes himself incapable of our strategies, twink that he is. His starting point, in an affront to all justice, is far more pleasantly compact than the hulking monstrosity from which I am emerging. I would murder to acquire the ‘male energy’ he possesses. Nichos, too, is blessed with an effeminacy I have only recently begun to match. A cruel jest that he is to feminize further in front of me, all of that wasted on a man.
What the fuck just happened?
What the fuck just happened??
I just came out? But I was pretending to fake it? And I just went and did it, because it was part of the pretend-fake-transition scheme? And both Jeff and Daniel think I’m pretending to be trans to win money?
“Wow, he’s annoying,” Daniel begins the second the door is shut. “And what’s more annoying is that st bit,” he continues.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask. The creeping horror of what’s about to happen now is taking shape in my head.
She looks straight at me, one hand in front of her face, doing the fucking anime hand thing she used to do way back when we were kids. Wait. She?
“My tribunal scheme was undermined by the habitual mannerisms we have developed.” I nod, unsure what to make of this sudden shift to polysylbic vernacur. “My efforts to dissuade you from participation failed, and I have accepted defeat on that front. However. If we both are to compete in Ranked Competitive Breast Growth, we must do what is necessary to maximize both our chances at victory.”
“The femme strat?” I ask.
“The femme strat.” She concurs. “Let it be clear, Nichole, that I have no doubt in the truth of your manhood. I was merely attempting to dissuade you from setting upon a path on which I have already suffered greatly, for my chest swells and my… appendage…” why does she look so disgusted? “It shrivels, Nichole. Shrivels. This is the path you, too, have chosen.”
Wow I sure hope so. I’m unsure about my feelings about downstairs, but ‘shriveling’ isn’t really an issue. I don’t think surgery is worth it, but if it fell off unprompted? I wouldn’t compin.
“And because of that, you’re calling me Nichole and talking like an anime vilin?”
“I am asserting my intent to commit, fully, to the scheme that you must also see the clear superiority of. The men of the Accord server expect a strategy of overcompensatory machismo, for what else would be the obvious choice when denying girlhood in the face of feminization?”
The logic at py here is complete fucking nonsense. Just fucking horrendous, and yet I can’t help but want to hear out the conclusion, because…
“And so, we shall outpy them all, asserting our manhood through its unshakable security. We will commit, fully and entirely, to the pretense of trans womanhood. We will make them see that no genuine trans woman would be so foolish, so brazen, as to attempt this. It is the genius tactic devised by none other than the rising star of the 2023 competition, the Master of Mammaries himself: Complete commitment to falsifying trans womanhood.”
This is so stupid. This is so fucking stupid. And I’m going to go along with it, because despite being fucking stupid, I’m not passing up a chance at transitioning with her, even if she thinks I’m doing it for a completely deranged reason.
“Yeah,” I start.
“Yes? You see the magnificence of the pn?” She’s lighting up. I don’t think I’ve seen her this enthusiastic since… Ever, really?
“I see it, Katherine.” Py it cool, though. She says she ‘believes’ I’m a man, but I can’t afford to make her too suspicious. “It’s as you said after all. Trans women have it easy. Why wouldn’t I want to do it like this, if I’m already competing anyway?”
“Then, Nichooooole,” she’s dragging out the ‘o’. I’m a bit scared of what’s next. “As the senior of our duo of falsified femininity,” please don’t call it that, I’m suffering enough already, “it is my self-evident duty to be your mentor.”
“Huh?” I’m sort of checked out of everything right now. The emotional rollercoaster of an unprecedented amount of contradictory genderings is taking its toll on me.
“Join me. I invite you to come inside my inner sanctum.”
Does she know what that sounds like? “We shall attain the upper hand by initiating the repcement of our wardrobes. All shall tremble at the sight of our glory.”
#General
Brisket Enjoyer
Ok. Time to come clean. I’m also just in this because I’m trans, lmao. I thought I was going to have to py Trans Amogus the whole time, but I mean, CC was right, there’s literally nothing to stop me from just taking the meds and going. So, I’m out.
But before I go, just one thing: You’re all fucking trans. There’s no way even one of you is actually cis. I have no idea what the egg-to-aware ratio is supposed to be, but holy shit. This is the eggiest Accord server I’ve ever seen.
Every single one of you needs to see a therapist who’ll let you figure your shit out. I need a therapist, just from having been here for a week.
That’ll be all, good luck with the titties. Hope to see you all at Pride <3
I finish reading the message.
I get off the bus.
I walk home from the bus stop.
I enter the common room.
Nichos and Daniel are conversing in Daniel’s room.
Correction: Nichole and Katherine.
I will respect their scheme.
I carry the box into my room.
I put it down. I lock the door. Time for relief.
I open my hidden stash.
Today I will wear the maid dress.
I feel the relief of wearing the maid dress.
It’s been like this for a while. I feel completely hollow inside, except when I’m doing this, the cross-dressing. I can pretend to be happy on the outside, but on the inside I don’t feel anything.
Those two don’t know how lucky they are. They don’t even have to figure out that they’re trans, they’re just stumbling into the game before ever realizing.
Meanwhile, I’m just a sick pervert who gets off on wearing dresses.
God dammit, I wish I was trans.
